


Believe

by vulpesvulpex



Series: One-Hundred Ways [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Fluff, M/M, just love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9179893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpesvulpex/pseuds/vulpesvulpex
Summary: In the cold nights, Stiles thinks. Voice soft, eyes roaming down the expanse of his back. Watches the steady rise and fall of his back. When his eyes close, he thinks of what his mother told him so long ago.OR: "I love you."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling really [emo]tional tonight. Decided to whip this short one out because I love my boys.
> 
> Song from Mumford and Sons. Ode to myself because lmao I love Mumford and Sons.

 

 

“Live each moment with purpose.”

Stiles wondered, vaguely, just what she was talking about. Shit, he was nearing 8 years old when she had told him this. Eyes glossy, skin tight over bones. Sans mirth. Sans life. She was whispering it to him, then kissed his forehead and told him to go get a bag of pretzels from the nurses for her. He had, and when he came back she was sleeping, fingers laced with his fathers.

He likes to think he lives with purpose, though sometimes blurred. Living is his purpose, he thinks sometimes albeit a little sourly. He lives so his father will know love. He lives to give hope to his friends. He lives to save his friends, his pack. He lives to live, to exist.

And he lives for Scott, for his best friend. And for Allison, who has done her part. He lives for the both because he was there and he watched the light drain from her eyes. He knew sorrow, and he lived for happiness. Something but a myth to him as of later.

But watching Kira and Scott, or Scott and Isaac. He can see his best friend is happy, living, breathing, laughing. He’s happy as well, smiling with a certain look in his eyes that his grandmother would click her tongue and call after him, “Old soul.”

He lives for Lydia, and all the pain she’s been through, all the tears. All the anger, the grief. He’s taken it upon himself to feel it too, fully. He knows the anger, the rage of liquid heat behind his eyes that weren’t akin to sadness but to a raging wave of red, fury. He knew the sickly calm of grief, how it sneaks up on you. He takes it in strides, lets the tears fall. Puts on a face for Lydia because somehow, after all these years, he’s okay and she can be too.

He lives for the beauty _in_ life. The foggy mornings with kisses of rain, and the dark and unforgiving winter storms. The pale cheeks, the winding streets. He lives for those, eyes and heart warming in the process. He’s softer in those moments, watching the trees mingle, fall, dance with the wind.

The people as well; laughing, beauty, communication. He sees the friendly gesture of old mates, the pulling out of chairs, the kisses of cheeks. He sees them all and averts his eyes because it’s private and it’s theirs; he’s no one to intrude but secretly, he’s glad that those people have somewhere to reserve solace; sometimes it a person. His chest is warm, right in the center.

He lives for Derek, soft and reserved in moments just as private as a mother kissing her child’s head. He sees the pain, the exasperation, and the kindness under all the anger, the sorrow, the resentment. He kisses it out of him sometimes, telling him, “ _God damnit, you are enough. I_ love _you._ ”

And his hands are bruised, but not from scars. The way he flinches from him sometimes; they’re quick but Stiles sees them. Kisses his knuckles hard. Sees the light in his eyes, smiles softly at him. He’s beauty and soft and warmth, though he won’t admit it to himself. He knows the way he holds himself; rigid, wound tight. He holds him close those nights, knows what he’s thinking without being told. Only when he loses the tension in his arms, his legs, is when he kisses him.

Dotes on him with love and laugher and kindness, and is rewarded. There’s a new ease; he’s more confident in just his manner. He speaks easier, less hesitation. He rarely second-guesses himself anymore. He shines brighter when he needs to, takes defeat graciously. There’s less of an overreaction now, only a solitary nod. He’s working, has a purpose.

He only hopes he can extend the lesson to those around him. To be kind with their words, and thoughtful with their actions. To love themselves as much as the love they give their friends, their families. To extend the olive branch, even when they shouldn’t. To give love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read. Comments and kudos appreciated.
> 
> All the love, S. xx.


End file.
